


octane sucks at giving head (until he doesn’t)

by debilitas



Series: clearing out drafts [2]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Trans Octane | Octavio Silva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27231217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: And when the violet light hits Octavio’s eyes, warm brown swallowed by blown pupils, theyglow. Bright, shiny, and unnatural, like he’s not of this world. Hell, maybe he isn’t.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Series: clearing out drafts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988098
Kudos: 35





	octane sucks at giving head (until he doesn’t)

**Author's Note:**

> hey gay people. so back when I was writing everyday I accumulated a lot of unfinished things that are just rotting in my docs so I figured I’d post some. hope someone enjoys<3
> 
> because they are all unfinished, they will end abruptly just fyi. feel free to use my mess as a springboard for ur own work

Purple.

Purple lighting was such a good idea. Elliott makes a mental note to tip his interior designer, because _fuck_ , does it make everything look good. Drapes the bar in a thick aura of debauchery, casts shadows in all the right places. 

And when the violet light hits Octavio’s eyes, warm brown swallowed by blown pupils, they _glow_. Bright, shiny, and unnatural, like he’s not of this world. Hell, maybe he isn’t. 

Then he’ll tilt his head, angling it away from the bulb above, and he’s Octavio again. Cheeks marred by acne scars, bridge of his nose off kilter from one too many breaks. Plenty of piercings that glint, even in the dim light, and the marks of ones since removed— or, more likely, yanked clean out.

The ship is mercifully vacant; not another soul for miles. No one to see Elliott trip over his own feet when he’s backed into the counter, trying to stammer out an apology. Before the words can escape his lips, however, Octavio is already capturing them with his own.

Being kissed by the hummingbird of a man is overstimulation to the highest degree. Sharp teeth nip Elliott’s bottom lip, a clever tongue tangling with his own while fingers thread through his hair and _pull_. Then those hands are scratching at his beard, running down the column of his throat, pressing both thumbs into the skin.

A knee slots between Elliott’s legs, making his cock twitch with interest in his jeans. Designer, of course, because every brand wants to be on Mirage’s body. Wait—

Octavio’s hands wander to Elliott’s fly, squeezing the outline of his dick through the denim. Makes a noise that dies in his throat, gripping the counter behind him. 

The cool marble helps anchor him to the moment, keeps him on solid ground. Their kissing has devolved into hot, open-mouthed panting against one another’s lips, and Elliott still struggles to keep up. Has to duck his head into Octavio’s shoulder when the zipper to his fly is guided down, and jittery fingers slip through the front of satin briefs.

...They’re _comfortable_ , alright? It isn’t his fault if the company also offered custom embroidery on the waistband, and he happened to capitalize on that.

Octavio frees his cock, pawing at it with no real expertise. Spreads precum over the heated flesh, stroking it erratically.

It’s too dry, too uncoordinated to be anything more than mildly enjoyable friction. Beggars can’t be choosers, but Elliott thinks a bad handjob is cruel and unusual punishment.

“Boring,” Octavio huffs, just as dissatisfied with his performance. “It’s not doing anything.” He lets go, and Elliott’s dick hangs half hard in the cool air.

“Hey, don’t insult Little Man.”

Octavio chokes on a laugh. “Did you seriously name your—“

Elliott shuts him up with a kiss. Holds both sides of his head, blunt fingernails digging into the shaved parts of his haircut. Feels the odd sensation of Octavio’s split tongue curled around his own, foreign, but not unwelcome. 

“Like this,” Elliott breathes against the side of Octavio’s mouth. Looks down as he curls the other man’s hand into a fist around his dick. “Yeah, just… _Shit_. Need something; like, spit or—“

Octavio drops to his knees, and takes Elliott into his mouth with no ceremony. He nearly doubles over, legs trembling beneath him. 

It’s warm and tight and oh god, Octavio’s already trying to take it _all_.

He gets halfway down before he gags, brows furrowing in frustration. Moves to try again, and Elliott stops him, fingertips on his cheekbones.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Oct,” Elliott pauses, clears his throat in an attempt to regain some composure. “I mean it.”

Octavio retracts with a wet pop that makes his gut churn with arousal.

“Legs,” Octavio replies incredulously, a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Elliott wipes it away with a thumb. “Exactly! Don’t think Ajay could get you a new eh-es-eso— throat. Here.”

He smoothes a hand over Octavio’s freckled neck, massaging it, urging the muscles within to relax. Cupping the side of it, and guides his hardening cock into his partner’s waiting mouth.

It presses through the seam of his lips with no resistance, glides atop a quivering, flattened tongue. Arousal has upgraded to a hungry _want_ , and it takes a hearty amount of control to not thrust into the wet heat. 

Though it takes some work, they eventually reach the base of his dick. Octavio looks up at him then, violet lights reflecting in blown pupils, and Elliott swears he could come right there. 

“There you go,” he says, sounding considerably winded. “Better, yeah?”

Octavio rolls his eyes, and looks like himself again. Elliott’s starting to prefer it. Octavio braces his palms against the thick curls at the base of the hard cock, and takes it further into his mouth. Drops his jaw even lower, head bumping the back of his throat, and swallows.

Elliott has to tear his gaze away, has to clamp a hand over his mouth to suppress what would otherwise be an embarrassingly loud whine. Blood molten in his veins, legs threatening to collapse underneath him, it’s somehow too much and not enough all at once. 

Sure enough, Octavio is quick to pick up the pace. Bobs his head up and down the length of Elliott’s cock, nimble fingers curled around the base. Produces wet, filthy noises that echo in the empty bar, and Elliott is immediately hooked. 

Wants _more_ , wants to thrust deeper, just to see what kind of sounds he’d earn. Wants to kiss Octavio again, taste himself on those lips, give the bottom one a playful nip. 

He wants to come in Octavio’s mouth, or maybe across his face. Make a proper mess of it— he’s definitely the type of guy to enjoy that. Relish in the aftermath of sex, whether it was stains on his face and clothes or marks bit into the flesh of his neck.

Then he looks. Sees Octavio, on his knees, a hand between his thighs, rocking his hips as he rubs himself through his pants. Lids heavy, cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, taking congested inhales through his nose. 

He alternates between taking Elliott down to the hilt and pulling away, depriving him of that delicious heat to lick the flushed skin. Holds the shaft between the dual ends of his split tongue, coating it with spit and precum. 

“ _Fuck_ , Oct. You—“ Elliott returns his hands to the counter behind him, holding the marble in a white knuckled grip. “Your mouth. Perfect. Holy shit, your mouth is perfect. So good.”

Then, because Octavio’s never been one to shy away from a good gloating session, he _stops_. Elliott feels his chest heave in a silent sob, wheezes the other man’s name in a desperate plea for release. Octavio is unphased.

“Y’know,” he begins, voice hoarse from the rough treatment his throat has been given. “I distinctly remember you telling me to shut my mouth earlier.”

Elliott wants to kick himself. Remembers the most recent match vividly, and the incident Octavio’s referencing.

...He had a rock in his shoe. A marble-sized pebble lodged in the bottom of his boot, digging painfully into his heel. Not to mention the horrendous cowlick protruding from the back of his head that he just couldn’t get to go down, no matter how much product he attacked it with.

It was an off day for him, filled with petty annoyances that’d be harmless on their own, but made him a fried nerve when put together. Made putting up with Octavio’s quirks near impossible.

“Silva, please!” He remembers shouting, voice cracking with the final syllable. “For five minutes, just _shut_ up!”

Elliott groans, and despises his past self. 

“M’sorry,” he wheezes. “There was a pebble.”

“Dunno, _compadre_ ,” Octavio sighs. He readjusts Elliott’s cock, stopping just before the head can touch his lips. “Maybe it’s time I learned my lesson.”

“No, no lessons,” Elliott replies, urging his hips forward. “I didn’t mean it, honest. There was a rock— huge, massive rock in my shoe. And my hair was terrible. Made me pissy, that’s all. Please don’t stop.”

Octavio hums, pretending to mull over his options. Continues stroking, just enough to keep him hard without offering any relief. 

The words spill out of him, messy and unplanned. Mumbled, barely coherent and desperate.

_“Baby, please.”_

Octavio isn’t nearly inconspicuous enough to contain his reaction. He’s too much of an open book, wears that manic heart on his sleeve. He breaks eye contact, flushes an even deeper shade of crimson, and chews his bottom lip.

Elliott moves in for the kill. Cups the side of Octavio’s face, feels the burning heat when he strokes an angular cheekbone. Traces the line of his lower lip, spreading it gently.

“C’mon, baby. Let me see that perfect mouth again.”

Octavio blinks, and opens his lips. Wraps them around Elliott’s thumb, swirls his tongue around it, drags it along his upper palate. 

“There you go.”

On impulse, he moves to open Octavio’s mouth wider. Holds it ajar, and realigns his cock. 

If anyone asks, he’ll say he lasted longer than a few seconds.


End file.
